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Show '" "" V '' '' '' V " V '" " V " V '" '" "" ' """ ! I 1 1 " j ; i FIX J I BAYONETS! ! j Tht War ol Cloie Ranit Dfcrited in d Rt- J J markob Srria try an Offictr of tht Marines j V : : i E ; Capt. : f JOHN 7. THOMASON, Jr. I: V 4 fniatrted by the Author f-wn r Bktb M&os oo the Battlefield) : I .'.. ;.....;.;.....-.......-.......-......-...- CHAPTER X Continued 14 These German roads were all honestly hon-estly metaled, but the Inch or so of mud on the surface was like soup underfoot, and the overcoats soaked up the rain like blotting-paper. It was the kind of a morning with no line between night and daylight. The blackness turned to gray, and, after a while, the major, on his horse, could look back and see the end of his column. The battalion, he reflected, re-flected, was up to strength again. It hadn't been this large since It went to Blanc Mont the end of September.' He shut his eyes on that thought a hundred and thirty men that came out, where a thousand went in then replacements, and, after the armistice, armis-tice, more replacements. Perhaps the quality was running down a little. The new chaps didn't seem as tall and broad as the old men, the tall, sunburnt Leathernecks that went out the road from Meaux, toward Chateau-Thiorry, Chateau-Thiorry, in the spring. Odd, Just six months since the spring. . . . But a few veterans and hard drilling between fights would keep the temper in an outfit . . . one remembered a phrase In an order of the division commander's "The Second division has never failed to Impose Its will upon the enemy. . . ." And today It crossed the German Ger-man Rhine. . . . He swung out of his saddle and stood by the road to watch them pass ; 1.200 men, helmets and rifles gleaming a little in the wet gray light. . . . The road led eastward through a country of low hills, sodden in the rain. Untidy clouds sprawled on the crests and spilled wet filaments Into the valk-ys. . The land was all In cultivation, cul-tivation, laid off In precise squares and oblongs; some newly plowed, some sparsely green with turnips and, rape. It looked ugly aDd ordered and sullen-!y sullen-!y prosperous. There was slow conversation con-versation In the column. " Anybody know where we goln' today?" "Damfino naw I did hear the skipper's orderly say we'd make the Rhine, some time " "How far " "Some guy was lookin' at a map at battalion. Said it was about thirty kllomets." "It's always 'bout thirty kilomets In this dam' country " "Teh ! Eut I remember one time It was twelve kilomets. The night we hiked up to Verdun, back last March. Had a Frawg guide little shrimp wit' a forked beard. Ask him how far, all he'd say was : 'Dooz kilomets dooz kilomets ' VHiked all night in the rain, like this, an' at daylight we came to a sign, wit' the name of the place we're goln' to, an' It said 'Dooz kilomets' that guide, he let on that he was right su'prised " But there were very few men In the column who remembered remem-bered the hike to Verdun, In the early spring of 191S; in one company jlllii Men Walked Silent, Remembering the Old Dead. eight. In another eleven ; In the whole battalion the barest handful. It had been a long road. The first way-station was the Hols de Belleau ; a. lot of people stopped there, and were 'here yet. And there were more, comfortably com-fortably rotting In the Foret de Retx, south of Solssons. And more yet, well dead around Blanc Mont. And a vast drift of them back In hospitals. Men walked silent, remember! ni the old dexd. . . . Twelve hundred men hiking to the Rhine, and how many ghosts. . . , The mist rolled around the column. You replacements never knew v-orp nil Snair. that got bumped off ai Soissons, dallyin' with a Maxim pin. He wns a musical cuss, an' ht tuier sing a song to the tune of the Old Gray Mare She Ain't What She I'ster Be' somethln' like The U. 8. flag will fly over Germany Less than a year from now ' and now it is, an' it's a pity' he ain't here to see It " "Well, but he's restln' easy where he Is me, I'm cold as hell an' this dam' drizzle Is dralnln' down my neck " There was nothing but the mist and the ruin, and a mean, cvdd little wind with a bite In It. North and south, from the edsfc of Holland to the Metz gateway, all the armies were march ing. Ahead, Just out of contact, went tiie German armies. The battalion passed a dense little wood of firs Christmas-tree woods, the battalion called them. This clump showed unmistakably that It had been a camp ; but there was no litter; the Boche who bivouacked bivou-acked there had left It neat and clean. Along the road in orderly piles were some hundreds. of the round German helmets, and parked precisely In a cleared place, where horse-lines had been, was a battery of 105 field howitzers. how-itzers. The old Boche was Jettisoning Jettison-ing what he didn't need. The battalion battal-ion observed and was thoughtful. "What about the ole Boche? Tou think he was licked enough?" "No, I don't That stuff back there, they laid it down under orders, like they do everything. It's stacked it ain't Just thrown away. An' look how they police up behind themselves " "Teh! Remember the other day, when we was advance-guard, we could see their rear-guard, sometimes perfect order, an' all that not like a defeated defeat-ed outfit, at all!" "Sure! I hope to spit in yo' mess-kit It ain't! An' those little towns back yonder, with the arches an' the flags and the welcome rcturnln' heroes stuff none o' that was for us " "They ain't licked enough. Look at this country winter plowin' done everything ship-shape no shell-holes no barb' wire who th hell won this war, anyway?" "You said it We oughter got up In here an' showed the old Boche what it was like, to have a war in his own yard." "Well, I've been In all of It, an' ptrs'nally I was glad when the shootln' stopped. I got me some sleep an' a full belly, an' a pair of new shoes an' some fireman's underwear, under-wear, too. An' I was right proud not to be killed. I ain't prepared to die " "We know you ain't, sergeant know" "Aw, belay that I mean, 1 was glad, myself, but we oughter gone on oughter've finished It while we was at it.- He wasn't licked enough, an' now he's goln', home like a peacock wit' seven tails !" This was the consensus of opinion, delivered with consideration In the rain. The replacements, especially those who had Joined up after the armistice, In Belgium, were savagely regretful. The chaps who had come in after Champagne, and been among those present at one fight, were bloodthirsty, but to a lesser degree. Only the veterans were entirely calm. The rain fell, the road grew heavier. The battalion, soaked and miserable, plodded on. They passed through many villages, all alike; all ugly and without character. The houses were closed and shuttered. You saw few people, but you always had the feeling feel-ing of eyes behind the shutters. One thick-bodied Boche, In uniform an artilleryman, by his leather breeches stood in the doorway of a house, smoking a porcelain pipe that hung to his knee. His face was set In a cast of hate. He stood and stared, and the battalion, passing, looked him over with respect. "Understand a bird like that" "Yeh he's honest Those dam' Heinies In the billet last night, they made me sick. That fellow that talked English. Says he was glad his American Amer-ican frlen's. present by agreement In the Rhelnlan', to welcome says that to me, an' would the Herr Soldier like a good cup of coffee?" "Dam' his remarks how 'bout the coffee?" "Well, It tasted funny, but It was hot." "Old guy at our billet gave us some cognac. Hot stuff! He didn't let on, though. You know those trick certificates cer-tificates a soldier's family gets in Germany? Colored picture like a Crol' Guerre eertif cate, shows a fat. beer-drinkin' Heinie angel standin' over a dead Boche signed Wlihelm I. R. you know. "Well, this bird had six of them In his front room, all framed on the wall. I gathered they was his sons. Four bumped off at Verdun In 191G. Onb very recent Soissons, July. Wonder If we met that fella? He stood there an' looked at me while I Was rtartin' them, an' he looked Uke a wolf. I don't blame him. But how come he gave us the cognac ?" Later the battalion learned that the Boche had orders to be hospitable. . . . Toward noon the clouds lifted, and the rain slowed to a thin drizzle, although al-though It did not stop. The battalion filed between hills toward a great valley, dimly seen. The hills towered over them, dark, menacing "Xo wonder won-der the ole Boche has such a mean disposition, llvin' In a country like this " The battalion came into a town with paved streets and trolley-car trolley-car and tall factory chimneys that did not smoke. Platoon commanders said it was Remagon ; those towers to the right would be the bridge. There was a bridge, a great steel structure of high black arches. The battalion filed upon It Under It black water flowed swiftly, with surges and eddies dimpled by the rain. High rocky hills came down out of the mist on the farther side. "So tills is the Rhine." remarked the battalion. "Hell '." A few files were Interested. A lank Texan said : "I don't see much to make a fuss about. You boys ever see the Trinity in overflow over-flow time! Tea miles irotu bank to bank. In the McKenzle Bend rountr; why, we'd call this a creek dowi where I come from " "Naw, it aln' much river an' no more is your dam Trinity! I was raised In Sent Louie-file Louie-file Miss'sip', now " "Well, rivers li this country are mainly over-touted That Marne. it wouldn't be mucl more'n a branch, down South. I nevet saw that there Vesle river, but a guv in the Thirty-second division, that was with me In Neuilly, he says you could mighty near jump across It." "Heard anything about chow? Galleys went on ahead awhile ago when do we eat " For four years no hostile troops with arms in their hands had seen this river; only sad files of prisoners had crossed It, under German guard. The battalion turned right on the eastern bank and went up the river, on a broad road between a cliff and the swift black water. There were many houses, a continuous town. It was past noon of a Friday, the 13th December, De-cember, and the Boche school-children were out. They gathered to look at the passing column. The marines eyed them keenly. These kids were different They did not point or talk or cry out, after the manner of children. They stood in stolid groups, wooden-faced, with unwinking un-winking pale-blue eyes. The boys were nearly all In field-gray uniform cloth cut down, perhaps, from the cast-off clothes of an elder. Some of them wore boots and round soldier-caps. soldier-caps. They carried books and lunch-boxes, lunch-boxes, knapsack fashion, on their shoulders. "Look, will you that kid there ain't more'n a yearlin', and they've got him in heavy marehin' order a'ready !" "Yeh, they start 'em early that's howcome they're the way they are these Boche." There were round-faced little girls with straw-colored braids, In cloaks. They did not look poorly fed, like the waxen-faced children the battalion remembered re-membered in France. And at every corner there were more of them. The battalion was impressed. "Say you see all those kids all those little square-heads! Hundreds of 'em. I'll swear! Something's got to be done about these people. I tell you, these Boche are dangerous! They have too many children " One more song "Long Boy." One of the very few soldier songs that survived the Atlantic voyage although it suffered some sea change was "Long Boy." It ran (with variations) varia-tions) : "Good-bye, Maw! Good-bye, Paw. Good-bye, mule, with your old heehaw. hee-haw. . . . Til bring you a Turk an' a Kaiser too. And that's about all one fellow can do. . . ." This file pictured above Is cheering his soul In the angle of the bridge at Silly-le-Long, ' Just outside of Cognac Pete's buvette. In a little while an M. P. with no ear for music will run him in. THE EXD. |